


Us

by Rose Golden (geekitout)



Series: Boreo Out of Context [2]
Category: The Goldfinch (2019), The Goldfinch - Donna Tartt
Genre: Character Study, Established Relationship, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Please Don’t Hate Me, They might be idiots in love but their love is toxic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:41:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21534646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekitout/pseuds/Rose%20Golden
Summary: If you were to ask me which version of us I preferred, I would tell you neither and both at the same time.
Relationships: Theodore Decker/Boris Pavlikovsky
Series: Boreo Out of Context [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1576954
Comments: 2
Kudos: 46





	Us

**Author's Note:**

> Please note: I do not condone, nor do I encourage, violence. This is not a reflection of how I feel about domestic violence; it is, however, one way I imagine their relationship could be: volatile and abusive and somehow exactly what Theo thinks he wants.

Our relationship was far from perfect. Many nights consisted of us shouting at each other over the smallest of inconveniences—ran out of food at the house, I drank the rest of his vodka and didn’t tell him or bother to buy him more, he left a dish in the sink for more than two days (pet peeve of mine)—and sometimes the arguments escalated until we were throwing whatever we could get our hands on at each other until finally, we ended up throwing fists. That usually ended with us tangled on the floor, clawing at each other in a mixture of anger and lust; ripped shirts, claw marks down our backs, one of Boris’s hands wrapped tightly around my throat while his free hand dug into my hip, leaving crescent shaped marks on my skin, as he slammed into me with a rough, calculated rhythm. We would go like this until we had fucked all the anger out and there was nothing left but exhaustion. The next day, we would be completely different people, as if none of it ever happened. If our bodies weren’t littered with bruises, even I would have believed that our fights had only been a series of recurring nightmares.

It wasn’t always like this though. We shared tender, vulnerable moments. Sex wasn’t always rough; sometimes slow, full of whispers and gentle touches. We made promises we knew damn well we couldn’t keep. We watched movies on the couch and I put my head in his lap while he ran his fingers through my hair. These moments were usually after a long separation, one or both of us coming back after a trip. We functioned better apart than we did together most of the time. At one point, I even asked Boris if he thought I should get my own apartment here so that we wouldn’t be around each other all the time. He scoffed and told me not to be stupid. Why pay double the rent when we could just live in the same space? I couldn’t disagree with that logic.

If you were to ask me which version of us I preferred — us beating the shit out of each other until I almost blacked out from being choked while he rammed into me, or us cuddled up on the couch watching It’s a Wonderful Life on Christmas morning, drinking hot cocoa and staring adoringly at each other— I couldn’t honestly tell you. Part of me ached for a gentler, calmer relationship but I also craved the volatility like a drug. His violence became my fix and I began to understand Xandra’s behavior when she used to antagonize my father, knowing it would only agitate him further. That was the point, I realized. It was a high no substance could ever compete with and I would not be satisfied until my anger-fueled adrenaline had tipped Boris over the edge. The pain he inflicted became an addiction that put my drugs to shame. The sweeter, softer moments we shared were a welcome, striking contrast though — like our aggressiveness was the brutal hangover from a night of heavy drinking and the tender moments were the water and aspirin sitting on the nightstand the next morning. They were a salve, calm and comforting to the biting wounds. If you were to ask me which version of us I preferred, I would tell you neither and both at the same time. This was the nature of our relationship, both hurricane and gentle summer rain. I would not have us any other way.


End file.
